


Not in the Cards

by VealChopz



Category: Arrested Development, Gob Bluth - Fandom
Genre: Other, will arnett - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VealChopz/pseuds/VealChopz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first person perspective of the narrator running into Gob Bluth in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not in the Cards

**Author's Note:**

> This was an anonymous request on Tumblr for a Gob Bluth/reader story. I hope this is what they wanted?

The humidity and heat in the crowded nightclub was almost as oppressive as the heat outside but without any breeze. It was just the stagnant, perfume heavy air of a nightclub in full swing. Even the mash of bodies feels almost too much as body heat is exchanged with each too close pass from person to person as you make your way to the bar for something to drink.

As you lean against the sticky surface of the bar to try and flag down a bartender you feel someone’s eyes on you as the long legs of the man on the stool next to you brush against your side. The man who is eying you is clearly tall, dressed in a silky button down in an rich purple that only accentuates his deep set tan and somewhat glassy blue eyes. He’s clearly a little drunk. But unlike most the look of ‘slightly intoxicated’ isn’t a bad look on him especially when he tosses you a lazy smile of pearly white teeth.

He seems to think your smile back to him is an invitation to get closer to you and invade your personal space as he leans down to whisper in your ear that his name is Gob. Even over the music his voice is a deep rasp that burns its way down your spine. With his long frame pressed against you, you can feel lean muscle under his silky shirt. It’s apparent that this Gob is all well muscled limbs and grabby fingers. You speak over the loud boom of the music almost directly into his ear as his long arm pulls you in closer. He smiles brilliantly when you tell him your name but that smile is short lived when the bartender gets close.

When the bartender finally takes your order, you can feel long fingers tracing the waist of your pants, tugging lightly on the belt loop. The sensation of the chilly damp of the surface of your glass is welcomed and you immediately feel the desire to press the glass to your face. If only the tall man next to you wasn’t staring so intently. Clearly, something about you was exactly what this guy was looking for. 

As you quickly sip the cold drink, feeling the burn of alcohol and juice running all the way down to settle into your stomach, you feel Gob’s breath against your neck as he tells you he’s a magician. A magician. Not even the strength of your drink or the dead serious tone in his deep voice can keep you from smiling at that. Did people actually do that for a living? 

Something about the sincere pride on his face keeps you from asking so you instead focus on draining your glass down to the watery remains at the bottom. You’re not entirely sure you actually tasted the drink as it was going down. The way the clingy magician’s voice seemed to snake down your spine to settle into your stomach was distracting. That was going to come back and bite you and there was nothing you could do about it. 

Standing at the bar with the magician pressed against you, he buys you another drink… and another… until you’re all but leaning against his strong, tall frame. He offers to do a magic trick and you can’t help but nod. You watch with slightly fuzzy focus as he reaches across the bar to snag a cherry from the bartender’s tray and pop the whole thing into his mouth, stem included.

You watch with fascination as his mouth works over the bright red, fleshy fruit and you’re stunned by how strong the muscles in his jaw are. Maybe you’re a little drunk or maybe he just has a very handsome face. You’re not sure and frankly, not too worried about it. Especially when he opens his mouth, the stem of the cherry tied perfectly in a little knot on the tip of his tongue. A “wow” escapes your mouth… or at least you think it does as the magician spits the little knot onto a napkin on the bar. 

Again he smiles at you for a second, his full lips curving into a satisfied smirk. Everything about that smirk makes you want to kiss the magician called Gob and you stop yourself for a second. Until he leans forward and makes the choice for you. His mouth still tastes like the cherry he just ate along with the sting of whatever strong alcohol he’d been drinking. 

As his mouth presses into yours, working hard to manipulate and move your lips where he wants, you feel long fingers slip around the base of your neck, pulling you closer. He’s a great deal taller than you so you have to crane your neck to reach his mouth. After a long beat, his soft lips retreat just enough that his teeth can graze your lips. The bathroom. You can barely hear his deep voice over the sound of your own heart in your ears. He wants you to follow him to the bathroom… or your car? What?

Nodding slowly, you feel him wrap his hand around your wrist and all but yank you away from the bar. Weaving in and out of the warm bodies obstructing your path there is nothing you can do but hold tightly to his wrist and let Gob pull you through the crowd. People grump and push, not wanting their space invaded anymore than you want to be invading theirs. 

The hallway to the bathrooms is poorly lit and somehow the dingiest place you’ve ever been but Gob is pulling you through the people milling in the hallway only occasionally glancing back to make sure you’re still with him. Like you could escape his grasp even if you wanted to. No, you were going to go wherever the magician wanted you to go. 

Once inside the bathroom you realize that the uneasy feeling you had about the hallway was nothing compared to the disgust you feel at the state of the bathroom. It’s dirty, dingy, and smells exactly like an uncleaned bathroom out to smell. If not for the tall, lanky magician pulling you into the only open stall, you’re almost sure you’d be bolting out. 

The wall is damp and a little sticky with the humidity in the bathroom as Gob presses you into it with his hips. If you had thought he was handsy before, as soon as he has you locked into the cramped, dirty, dimly lit stall he proves you wrong. This close to him, he smells like soap, clean sweat, and a faint hint of expensive cologne. The combination isn’t all that bad especially in comparison to the surrounding bathroom. 

Fingers press under your clothes, searching skin and you find yourself wanting to feel his skin. Under the satiny softness of his shirt you’re surprised to feel a smattering of chest hair and cordy muscle. As he presses hungrily into you, his mouth baring down on yours, still tasting like cherry and sweet liquor. You’re not sure how but he somehow manages to groan out something that sounds kind of like your name… or as close to your name as the magician could remember. Does he even remember? The way his hips press into you is enough that you really don’t care if he remembers your name or not. He’s in the right ballfield in the very least. 

Your back aches with the beat up wainscoting pressing into your back as the long legged magician forces himself in between your legs and forces you to rest your weight on him and the wall. If the large, lanky man pressing into you wasn’t so distracting you might have stopped to think about what exactly had been done against that wall in the past. But you don’t. You just make a mental note to never wear these clothes again. And to shower.

As he grinds desperately into you the hardened bulge in his tight pants becomes all but obvious. The last thing you want to do is sleep with some stranger in a dirty bathroom but the urge to hear him make even more sounds is growing. Despite how busy it is in the bathroom, Gob doesn’t seem to be ashamed of making a little noise especially when your teeth and tongue press the advantage against his own full lips and clever tongue. 

Blindly searching for his belt, your fingers stumble through what should have been easy motions. It was not as if you’d never tried to unbuckle a belt… or lower a zipper… or pop a fly before… those simple tasks were just that much harder when the magician figured out what you were doing and increased his thrusting against you. 

You reach into the tight front of the magician’s pants, feeling tight boxers made of soft, probably expensive boxers. Slipping fingers under the waistband your fingers feel out soft skin over smooth muscle. You’re not sure if you say the word ‘damn’ out loud or if you think it but as your fingers slide further down, gripping his hardened erection with gentle fingers you can all but feel his body stiffen. The sound he makes is beautiful and desperate. 

While your fingers stroke him, his face and mouth press roughly into the crease of your neck, slight stubble scratching against your neck as he sucks desperately on your throat. His skin is slick with sweat and it makes the friction sweater as you stroke him in time with his hips thrusting into your hand. 

His hands are desperate in their grip on your body as he holds you tightly against him in the stall. There’s something almost tragic and heartfelt about the way he gasps against your neck, the soft hairs of his disheveled hair tickling your face as you continue to stroke him through the tight material of his pants. 

The longer you stroke him, the shallower his breathing becomes along with the tightening of his grip on your hips. Not only is this moment weirdly intimate considering you’re in a dirty bathroom stall with your hand down the front of a stranger’s pants… It’s desperately needy and kind of hot… in a weird way.

Every inch of Gob’s body seems to stiffen as warm wetness spills into your palm and on the inside of the magicians pants before he slumps against you. Your momentarily overwhelmed by the knowledge that you just gave a stranger a handjob in a bathroom. That feeling lingers as you wipe your hand off on the fabric of his boxers and watch him button back up his pants, now pulling back from you. 

Where before, he was completely enthralled with you, now he won’t even look you in the eye. As if realization was sinking in for him as well. You wonder if he’d meant to even coax you into the bathroom in the first place. There’s something almost sad as he gives you an awkward and almost sterile pat on the arm compared to the intimacy the two of you just shared that feels hollow, embarrassing. He says something that sounds like “Thanks, Tony” as he slips out of the stall and leaves you there wondering who the hell Tony was.


End file.
